


Ton Invitation

by Astray



Series: SMAUG shenanigans [6]
Category: Romeo And Juliet - All Media Types, Romeo And Juliet - Shakespeare
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-06
Updated: 2015-06-14
Packaged: 2018-04-03 04:55:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4087723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Astray/pseuds/Astray
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The pros of listening to music is that you can forget what's going on around you. The cons of listening to music really loud is that you don't even notice Tybalt walking in.<br/>In which Mercutio gets what he usually gets - a punch - and something more than he bargained for - an invitation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Soundtrack for this chapter can be found [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zG1CLCBNhpo).

"What the hell are you doing?"

Mercutio froze mid-move. In the background, _Love Mera Hit Hit_ kept on playing.

"That's called a Bollywood choreography I think, Tybalt." Mercutio could not keep the sarcasm from his voice. He tolerated the man at University on account of his best friends being all lovey-dovey with Tybalt's cousins. However, such courtesy did not extend to his flat.

Luckily, the dislike was entirely mutual. Even though Mercutio would have admitted – on the rack – that it was a perfect waste. Tybalt was handsome, and Mercutio had a weakness for pretty things. Not saying that this weakness was really one, as Mercutio never deemed it important to even be civil to him. But back to more important matters.

"If you're looking for Romeo's better half, she's not here." Okay, maybe snapping at Tybalt was not necessary. But to think the guy actually saw him shaking it – and to a rather ridiculous song at that... It was not exactly mortification but he'd be damned if Tybalt did not file the information somewhere to use it against him. Himself would sure as hell have done so.

"I can see that. That's not the reason I'm here."

“I wonder how you got here in the first place. Care to explain?”

“I got to the appartment complex as people usually do, took the stairs the same way, knocked likewise and, receiving no answer but hearing music blasting the paint off the walls, I tried the handle.”

Mercutio scowled: “And so you crept on me?”

Tybalt let out a sigh that should have sounded bored and came out as long-suffering. It was plain as day that he did not want to be here. “Too bad I didn't try to stab you, because I wouldn't have to stick around now.”

It took all of Mercutio's willpower not to comment. Of course, saying something to the effect of waiting for that certain stab would rile Tybalt up quite nicely. He did not care for a broken nose, however. He turned away from Tybalt, mostly to keep the temptation to speak at bay. Mercutio knew that Tybalt was watching him – they had a history of brawling, and so, he never quite let his guard down. In itself, it was stupid. If Tybalt was here, at least one of his cousins knew, so if anything happened to him – beyond said potential broken nose – everyone would know within a few hours. Still, it was slightly unnerving to have someone watching his every move as he towelled himself. The air was stifling – and he blamed the exertion for it. 

"So, why are you here?" It was rare enough of Tybalt to be civil to anyone, let alone to him. His earlier remark notwithstanding, this must have been the longest time they spent together in a room without any actual fighting. So, Mercutio tried to do the same – be civil.

"My cousin is graduating, so they are throwing a party. Sadly, you are invited."

Mercutio would have laughed – until he noticed the white envelope in Tybalt's hand. How it must burn him... But Mercutio felt merciful, so he extended his arm. Their fingers brushed briefly and Mercutio noticed that Tybalt's hand was cold. It surprised him – he would have expected his constant anger to come from him in hot waves. And why would he even bother? He tried to hide his momentary slip by asking Tybalt if he was invited because he was such a fine man, a friend of Romeo, or a kinsman to the Prince. Or all three.

The bark of mirthless laughter that answered him was enough to assert it was neither for his counterpart, and all three for Mr. Capulet. 

"Honestly, Mercutio, why must there be a reason? Old men are fools." _No matter their name._

Mercutio was no fool – he had occasionally overheard Tybalt rage against his uncle's choices. From what he knew, he probably would have done the same.

"Well, so long the fools provide drink and food, no need to fret. But I wonder..."

"You wonder a great many things, sometimes I think you don't even want answers."

"Not answers that don't please me. Why Capulet is celebrating when he should be mourning Juliet's potential departure?"

Mercutio knew he had hit home when Tybalt blanched. He did not want her to go – protectiveness, jealousy, or both.

"He'd rather not think about that."

"Speaking in the third person is unbecoming" said Mercutio, smirking.

"You don't know when to quit, do you?" Exhaustion suffused Tybalt's composure, which was unusual enough for Mercutio to think about it.

He was used to Tybalt when he was edging for a fight, when he was hissing and spitting insults like the angry cat he was. He was used to see a deadly, sleek jungle cat, not this ruffled kitten. Maybe Tybalt was tired of fighting, who knew. But again, Mercutio was not going to let him off the hook. 

It was not like he had anything better to do, so it was probably fine to do what he did best: nag the cat. In retrospect, he should have known it was a bad idea when he ended up sprawled on the floor with a split lip and Tybalt towering over him. A bad idea indeed. And truly, he never thought he'd be so close and personal with the man and still live and – wait, what? Oh no, it was fine – Tybalt still looked ready to murder him. Good. He got a moment of panic right there.

“Fine, fine, you stubborn moron, I'll crash the party. Happy?”

It seemed to shake Tybalt out of whatever reverie he was in. Mercutio was not certain whether he should be relieved or offended, seeing Tybalt back away as though Mercutio were some kind of nuke ready to hit him in the face. There went the lame puns. Again. He hated it when his mind was playing tricks on him like that.

“You tell me. I don't think I'd ever trust you to behave.”

Mercutio got up slowly, and made a show of acting as though he was in terrible pain. He was not, but he was nothing if not a man of theatre. “You wound me! Have I ever given you cause to think I would not? I am the epitome of good behaviour, just so you know!”

“Not when you're drunk.” And the scowl Tybalt wore was a warning in itself. He could as well have screamed “you grope everything that walks when you are drunk off your ass and don't deny it because we both know it's true”. Though, to his credit Mercutio never flirted with Tybalt – he may lose whatever inhibition he had, but not enough to commit suicide in public. Damned be Freshers' Week – and that was ages ago. Or would have if Mercutio did not go every year. Not the point.

“I'll behave alright. You know, sometimes I wonder how you do it.”

“How I do what?”

“You know, act as though you had no sense of humour. I am messing with you.” Maybe the Cheshire-cat grin was not necessary but he could not really help it.

“Sometimes, I hope you wouldn't. Stupid, heh?” Something changed in Tybalt's stance – it had not happened often but it was as good a sign as any that he allowed himself to fall into the banter. All the better for Mercutio then.

“If I stopped messing with you, don't you think your life would be awfully dull?" Not to mention that Tybalt was the best target. He was not prepared for the bark of laughter that answered him – and he was not sure if it was a mockery or not.

"Alright, it may be. I'd still pray for you to get run over by a car, as it's a dog thing. Now, if you don't mind, you are expected around eight in the evening. That is, if you think you can actually come on time for once."

It took all Mercutio's willpower not to howl at this. "Oh, I totally can, but we're not quite there yet. I'd hate to rush–" The look on Tybalt's face was absolutely priceless. He looked like he was going to faint. "I'll be on time, no worries." Because he had to sober up from time to time, after all.

"Good." With this, Tybalt turned to leave – and Mercutio briefly thought that he could not very well make him stay any longer. Casting a glance at the clock, he noticed that he had exactly... seventeen minutes before Marlowe would get his head on a platter for being late to class. Again. He never dressed so fast in his life – in a flash, he was gone, books and papers and pens haphazardly thrown in a random messenger bag that could have been Benvolio's. He ran so fast that he nearly collided with Tybalt in the hall, did some kind of half-turn and dashed out. He almost did not hear Tybalt curse him. Almost.

It was a good thing he lived close to Uni, otherwise he would have been dead meat before he even made it to the corridor. Rumour had it that Marlowe put some booby traps in the alleyways. Mercutio was inclined to believe it without proof. If Marlowe had traps indeed, it would be the kind with big, steel jaws. Of course he did not. Not that reality mattered. Mercutio skidded across the last bit of corridor, just as the door of the classroom was closing. _Shit shit shit shit don't do that not now shit!_ He was doomed. And because he was utterly screwed, he allowed himself a pause to catch his breath. Only then did he notice a bunch of students looking at him as though he were a total madman. And he probably looked the part – he was certain his hair was all over the place, his bag was still open – and for some reason, not yet spilling its papery guts all over the floor. He heaved once more, before taking the last steps to the classroom. KC11 – the den. Or lair, whatever. Mercutio knocked softly, praying for Marlowe to be too occupied to actually notice when he opened the door. But as soon as he caught sight of the professor, he knew he was in for a hell of a time.

“Mercutio della Scala. How good of you to join us.”

Mercutio cringed, but really, he was to blame – and he knew he was notoriously late to practically all of his classes. Kit Marlowe's class was an exception.

“Sorry about that. I–”

“Just take a seat, Mercutio.”

Strange. Usually he was toasted on arrival. However, he was certainly not going to ask Marlowe about it, and he scuttled to an empty spot on the side, getting his stuff on the desk. Professor Evil did not say anything the entire time, speaking only once Mercutio was settled.

“Alright. As I told you two weeks ago, this is the day you are supposed to hand in your essays. If you don't have it now, send it to me today.”

Alright, now someone had his very head on the block. There was no way in Hell he would be able to hand that in. He let himself fall forward, his face colliding with the table with a – rather painful – thud.

“Do you have a question, Mercutio?” Damn him, he could practically hear his eyebrows raising ever so slightly in this way that meant “I am not impressed with your drama, out with it”.

“What if we can't hand it in on time?”

“Glad you asked this question, it's not like we already covered it. So here: any email I receive after midnight will be automatically deleted and you will be given another chance to submit a proper essay to pass the exam.” To anyone else, it would be mercy. In case of Marlowe, it was the contrary. Another essay meant shorter deadlines, greater restrictions – to say nothing of the grading itself. What would fetch you an A the first time might get you nothing more than a B- the next. Only the new students got caught in the trap.

He wanted to die, the gods hated his guts with a passion and he would be doomed. Knowing it would be a far-fetched possibility, he straightened his back, trying his best to look sheepish. “What if we had other assessments and works and, I don't know, performances and did not have time to finish?” There, someone, pray for the puppy eyes to work, _pleasepleasepleaseplease_ – 

“You may look like you could be Shakespeare's rather handsome little brother but if you think you can charm me into letting your slacking self off the hook for not handing your essay in time, for whatever reason... You're in for some trouble indeed.” Kit Marlowe should be banned from ever smirking to his students. He looked positively evil. The goatee never helped, nor did the black clothes. And if Mercutio was not used to working with him, he would not even be able to think. Because he still could think. Even if his thoughts were currently running in circle, amidst rather interesting variations of the 'being absolutely fucked' theme. He had no choice. He would have to work his ass off – and convince Benvolio into coming to the library with him. Not simply because Benvolio would actually smack him at the back of the head every time he looks away from his books. Benvolio was the only one who would follow him to the library – unfazed as he was by Prospero's habits.

Thus, right after class and a few texts, Mercutio was half-hidden behind a wall of references and typing furiously on Benvolio's laptop – he had forgotten his own and since a memorable crash two years ago, he stopped trusting the University's computers with his essays. The library was mostly empty, though he could hear some movement upstairs. The mezzanine was a TA haunt, and one only went there to fetch obscure books featuring equally obscure sources. Benvolio was reading a book probably thesis-related but without taking any notes. Probably the only bloke in this place who would read specialized literature as anyone else would comics. Which was saying something.

“Mercutio?”

“Hmmm...”

“You are spacing out.” Benvolio did not even look up from his book. He turned another page. Mercutio could not help it – he was almost stuck, he did not say half the things he wanted because some moron borrowed the book he needed – _The Devil's Lewd Hat_ , not to name it. And he was out of his mind. He was screwed.

“Okay.” Benvolio slowly put his book back on the table. “Stop freaking out. It's disturbing.”

“I'm not freaking out.” _Yes I am but shut the fuck up, Benvolio!_

“Yeah right.”

“I'm not scared, Benvolio! Nothing can scare me!” He sounded childish but he could not even care less.

“How's your drama assessment going?

“Perfect – he's gonna gut me, and probably hang me with it – and leave me to rot in a closet. As an example!” Okay, he may be in the middle of a major freak out session, but hey, it was nearly 6 PM by now and he was dead.

And he never had been so dead as when a too-familiar voice echoed from the mezzanine: “I thought the roof would be more suitable – or maybe the spire? At least you'd be useful and feed the carrion birds.”

“Professor Marlowe, I am not sure Mercutio would be a good Prometheus.”

“You must be right. I'll find something else. The river, mayhaps?”

Mercutio wanted to die. His professor was going to murder him and his best friend actually gave him ideas. His life could not get any worse. He groaned, and let his head hit the table for the second time that day, narrowly avoiding the laptop. Marlowe probably heard him, because next thing he knew, he was speaking again: “You can do it. If only you stopped pretending to be an idiot.”

“Not pretending, with all due respect.”

“You are. Now, work – and stop trying to break tables with your forehead.” Marlowe sounded a lot closer, and when Mercutio slowly turned around, he saw him walking down the aisle, back to the library's door. Only for Prospero to start another rant about “disrespectful punks who dared call themselves scholars and disrupted the peace of the place”. Nothing less. Not that Marlowe, or Mercutio, or anyone ever cared. Except perhaps Will Shakespeare but apparently, it had nothing to do with him personally.

Mercutio heard Benvolio greet Ariel, and so he saluted him too. The young librarian assistant had a pile of books in hand, probably to put them back on their respective shelves. He offered them a smile. “Don't mind him. He'll calm down, and I'll be the one closing tonight. Take as much time as you need.” And off he went, and Mercutio reflected that his life must not be so bad after all. It was only then that he thought he had seen... no wait. He caught up with Ariel, and yes, there it was – the book. “The Devil's Lewd Hat”. He asked for it in earnest, and he would have kissed Ariel. He dashed back to his seat, triumphant. Really, life was getting better and better. Well, before Benvolio whacked him on the head with a heavy tome to send him back to work.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> soundtrack to this chapter [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GurkREc-q4I) (just a heads up that the videoclip is NSFW).

The music was too loud – yet not loud enough to drown the sound of his heart trashing in his chest. It felt like a wild animal trying to escape a steel-jaw trap. The touch had been light – but the intent was not. Tybalt knew Mercutio too well to believe he did not do it on purpose. Unwilling to rush, trying to reason, Tybalt waited. And still Mercutio came back to him – a mocking smile that looked too much like a mask – a glance too honest and cruel. Tybalt had come to terms with their animosity – for anything to change now meant more trouble. Still, he lost himself in the music, drowning in the bass line and bones crushed by drums.

A fleeting touch between his shoulder blades – flying down his spine – a hand lingering on his hip. Maybe Tybalt could stop caring, because for once, he was a man and not the dragon of Pater Capulet. He knew though – he could feel Mercutio's hot breath on his neck, his chest now pressed to his back. Why did he tie his hair this time? Damn Mercutio. Mercutio who knew his secrets without searching. Mercutio who would let him fight without arguing.  _I understand your rage more than you know, Tybalt._  One of the very few times he called him by his given name and nothing else. 

"Stop thinking." And it was all the warning he had before he felt lips on his spine, a mere brush – his heart turned into a deer and he would have leapt. The urge was quelled by the not-so sudden desire to touchhim. Because he would lie to himself if he said it never crossed his mind. Yet he fought it, spinning around, catching Mercutio's wrists.

"What do you think you're doing?" He hissed, not quite snarling but close enough.

For an instant, he felt the breathless urge to rip him apart, tear this grin from his face – a vision of Mercutio drenched in his own blood... He could almost taste it. And in spite of the threat, Mercutio did not try to move away.  _Why? Why do you stay when you should run? Why do you taunt me? Why do you let me fight you?_  He was lost – and he did not even strike as he would have. Because he saw something – fleeting shock, rejection – something carved across Mercutio's face. A look he had never seen before. Stricken. Their proximity made it harder for Tybalt to think more clearly – standing chest to chest, they touched with each breath taken. He felt like he had run miles.

"Give me your hatred, if this is all you have."

The spite carried on these words even survived the screech of the music. And it stung. And it was true – he hated Mercutio. Resented him for the thoughts he spawned. Hated him for getting under his skin like an infected hypodermic. When Mercutio leaned forwards, their faces inches apart, Tybalt did not even think to back away. Part of him baulked, roared and clawed at him to get away – or maim. He was frozen. The closeness was too unfamiliar, he could not deal with it.

Tybalt would have stumbled when Mercutio yanked his arms backward – but all he felt were lips against his. He could not look away: Mercutio's eyes almost black in the light, they rooted him in place. Someone get him away – his body did not respond. It was surprise if nothing else that had him parting his lips – to let out an indignant squawk, no doubt. And when he felt Mercutio's tongue slither tentatively in his mouth, it was shock that prevented him from biting. Strings pulled at his heart, a tension that threatened to break him in two if he did not do something – anything. Though he did not expect his traitor of a body to answer in kind.

It was not really a kiss – just an extension of their ongoing strife. Anger kicked him into motion – how dared Mercutio touch him so? Outrage made his blood boil, and all he needed was to teach this cur a lesson. He had not anticipated letting go of Mercutio's wrists only to grasp his hips – to push him away or to pull him closer was not the question – he simply held him. He felt his bones, a telltale sign that he probably had a death grip on him. Yet Mercutio did not move – he simply stayed there. Waiting for something, but Tybalt had no idea what. Their breaths mingled and for an instant, it was as though everything else had faded – the thumping beat of the music no longer resounding. Then Mercutio grabbed his shoulders, forcing him in place as he kissed him again. Tybalt's heart was frantic – and he should have tried to escape. But this kiss was fleeting, not leaving him time to react. But however light, the touch scorched him.

Mercutio dragged him away, the thin walls a flimsy protection against the sounds – and if Tybalt had been paying attention to what it was, he would probably have laughed at the irony.  _ I am the dirt you created, I am your sinner - _  Mercutio's mouth found his again, and this time he answered in kind – a growl deep in his chest still resenting the intrusion but now, he found his fingers tangled in Mercutio's mane. He tugged, relishing the nearly pained hiss that his action elicited.  _ You love me for everything you hate me for. _  His back was pressed against the wall, and the bass line thundered in his bones. 

The animal in his gut, that rage, suddenly went silent – and it scared him. He was used to its unheard roar, to its claws at the back of his neck – now there was nothing – all he could hear was Mercutio. His breathing, slightly ragged, this small sound he made when he pressed closer to Tybalt – for one second, he fancied he could hear his heart – unless it was his own. Then, sounds started to rush back in, disorienting him so that he held onto Mercutio. He could not have explained why, but he leaned forward, slanting his head and kissing his... enemy. This so-called foe that had always let Tybalt have his way with violence as Mercutio himself did with words.

The feeling of Mercutio was addictive, and on a whim, he gnawed at his lower lip – testing. The barely contained moan that he heard could have come from either of them. He did not care. He felt Mercutio's hands wander to his sides, his back, their bodies flushed against each other – and he craved more. So much more...  _ I can be your everything... _  As suddenly as it started to spin around him, his world screeched to a halt.

It was Mercutio. Mercutio who taunted him with his smiles, his stance. Mercutio who would fool around with anyone and leave before getting his heart caught. Mercutio who would leave others trail in the dirt. Tybalt's mind finally regained its voice – as though the madness had muted it, and now, he realized something. It was cold, it was slimy – it was like being in deep dark waters with dark things slithering around you. What if Mercutio was using him? What if Tybalt was just another name to add to his chart? He could not.

Without even thinking about what he was doing, or how he did it, Tybalt pushed Mercutio away, staggering as far away from him as he could. He could not see anything, nor hear anything – it was all a blur and only when he made it up the stairs – in the corridor to his room, did Tybalt slow down. His body was still thrumming with excitement – dare he even think it? – arousal. In this moment, there was a weight in his chest that he did not know how to shake it off. He had always made a point to stay away from people. With good reason. Once more, damned Mercutio was the one who stampeded across his ordered life. He looked down, and noticed his hands were shaking. He did not even feel it. Fear. The worst, gut-wrenching fear, in a very long time. Oh, how he nearly fell for it.  _ Tybalt, you are a fool. _  Not quite – he had escaped.  _ That was something, right? Right? _ He took a deep breath, and made for his room. Or he would have, had a certain someone not caught up with him mere seconds before he grabbed the doorknob. He did not need to look – he did not want to see the mockery in his eyes. He did not want to be proven right, to know for sure that whatever he had seen on Mercutio's face earlier had been but a mask created to lure him. He would not look. 

"Tybalt..." Only a deaf man would not have heard the hesitation contained in this single name. But he chose to ignore it altogether.

"Leave." He did not want to talk and he would certainly not be drawn into a verbal spar. He suddenly felt unbelievably tired. As though he could crumple to the ground in a minute – and he could not even bring himself to care. 

"Are you alright?" Concern. Tybalt hated himself for being able to read Mercutio even without seeing his face. But the man was a great actor.

He did not reply – he did not even have the strength to. This would have been the main reason why he let Mercutio take hold of his shoulder and make him turn around. His touch was gentle, unlike anything he ever thought could come from someone whose words cut so deep. He kept his eyes down, though, and for once, was thankful for his hair falling across his face. Hair bearing an uncanny resemblance to Mercutio's if he were honest about it. He could not help but groan low at the thought. 

"Tell me, are you–"

"If you want a plaything, get out."

It was not what he had wanted to say. And he certainly did not want to sound so bitter. Yet, part of him rejoiced at the sharp intake of breath he heard – he had hit home. Mercutio really thought he was being clever, poor him. 

"What are you on about? Tybalt, look at me."

Tybalt wanted to scream, because he did exactly that. He did not like what he saw on Mercutio's face. It was an open book, and all he saw there was concern, pain even. He wanted to curse him for being so expressive. He knew for a fact his own face was a mask – he was so used to wear it that he could not even let it go. Especially not at this particular moment. 

"Fine, you want to know?"

Mercutio nodded and right then, Tybalt wanted to hurt him. To let out all his rage, his frustration, and use Mercutio as an outlet. It was only fair. Mercutio had tried to use him.

"I don't know what the fuck it was all about, but you know what? You won't win. I won't let you win. You mocked me before, you taunted me. This I could take. But don't you ever think that such a lame show of affection, desire, whatever it was, would be enough to get me." The more he spoke, the more ashen Mercutio seemed. And it spurred him on. "I won't be one of your whores! I stayed away from people like you my entire life. I won't be used and discarded as the rest."

He noticed only too late that he was clutching Mercutio's arms – he choked on his breath, the shaking getting worse and worse. He had to calm down, he had to – his vision blurred and mortification would have killed him if Mercutio had not always been one to deal the last blow. In spite of the death grip Tybalt had on his arms, Mercutio twisted them slightly – Tybalt did not watch him do it but all of a sudden, hands rested on his forearms. Cool, soothing. He had no control over himself, dry, heaving half-sobs that racked him for no reason. He was not supposed to break in front of anyone, let alone Mercutio.

"Tybalt." 

What was in a name? He knew not. So he kept silent – he could not speak. 

"I never meant to use you. Never." His head snapped back up at this. And he saw no deceit in Mercutio – only plain, brutal honesty. And it did not look like Mercutio was having the time of his life either. "We may fight. We may rage at each other, but believe me when I tell you I respect you too much to play that game with you." 

Of all the shocking things Mercutio could have said, this one was definitely taking the cake. Tybalt let out a shuddering laugh. "You are playing still." He could not bring himself to believe him. It was too foreign – it was too far removed from what he knew. He willed his breathing to slow down, and eventually, he was back to his former self. Poised. Confident. As if hell had not broken loose only minutes ago. Because Tybalt was a Capulet and he was good at it. The change in his demeanour brought one in Mercutio as well. When he took a step back, part of Tybalt screamed – _no no no don't go, that's not what it seems_. Except it was. Rejection – and didn't Tybalt know all about it? 

"Fine." One single word, and Mercutio looked like himself again, restless, a half-smile on his lips that looked like a grimace – the expression he had when he was about to say something nasty. But Tybalt knew Mercutio too well – he saw past it, saw the bone-deep hurt. And it made him want to do something, anything. But Tybalt was a Capulet and he was not supposed to hope. Not supposed to feel. He only watched, frozen, as Mercutio shook his head. 

"I don't get you, Tybalt. I don't. I don't know how on earth I can make you understand that I am not playing. I stopped playing the moment I kissed you."

He could not answer. The unsaid words, 'to mock me', hung in the air. Tybalt could not find his voice – with Mercutio's words, echoes burst in his skull. The memories of his touch, the kisses – they burned him. A sense of wrongness, of loss, burrowed in his guts – it intensified when Mercutio took another step back. Tybalt felt himself waver slightly. 

"Maybe. Maybe I could have laughed. But no. You have no idea what you made me feel – for years I tried. The taunts were a means to keep it at bay. And I let you rage."  _ But now you hurt me. _  "I won't lie to you about this. Even if it's not comfortable." And with this, he turned on his heels and rushed away. 

Tybalt remained where he was, perfectly still – the mirror image of his persona. As though in a daze, he turned around and got to his room. Closed the door. Went to sit on his bed. He had no energy left. He should have said something – but what? This... thing. It was not real. When his mind moved back to it, it seemed like he floated – a dream-like trance. Whatever he had felt... The warmth, the longing – it had all been an illusion. There would be no way to find out – Mercutio must be miles away. 

He had no idea how long he stayed like this. Only that at some point, knocking was heard. And right then, the door opened – he heard Rosaline's voice, muffled: "Leave it, Juliet." But no, Juliet never knew when to stop. 

"You left the party early, cousin."

This was bad – when Juliet was beating around the bush, it spelled doom for anyone in the room.

"So what if I did?" Alright, maybe growling at her was a dumb idea. She was worse than a bulldog when she set her mind on something.

"Jules, leave him alone." Rosaline entered the room, and closed the door behind her. She would understand. Probably. But Juliet was there – he would not say anything in front of her. He did not want any of this to spread, especially not to Romeo. He bit his lip – he could not exactly send them away and keep his cool. He was so numb – could barely feel his fingers. All of a sudden, Rosaline was by his side – her hand on his arm, supportive. There was no way she could have known. No way. He did not dare look into her eyes, so caught in his thoughts that he nearly missed Juliet speaking once more. 

"Well, next time you guys have a tumble, tell him to take the back stairs. Rosa and I ran into him – looked like the devil pulled his tail."

"What are you on about?" He did not want to know. Panic swelled in throat before he could squash it.

"Really cousin, if it's because he's a guy..."

“Wha-"

"Mercutio della Scala, silly!"

Okay, he was in Hell. Probably in Cocytus too because he did not recall ever feeling this cold before. Not breathing was really starting to get old but this time, it was because his heart leapt in his throat. What had he ever done to warrant such a karma? 

"Would you mind go downstairs and get the last of them out?" It was Rosa's polite way of telling their younger cousin to sod off, of course. 

Juliet scowled at this – she apparently had plans and Rosaline just crushed them. Tybalt was grateful for their cousin's intervention. Without a word – but a grin that could only be a mix of saucy and knowing – she went out.

"Thank you."

"No worries. You didn't look like you'd be able to handle the bullshit." Rosaline rarely swore, unless something bothered her. She did not ask him what was the matter and for this, he was grateful. Thus, he let her rest her head on his shoulder, a gesture reminiscent of their childhood – when the adults would be too occupied and Rosaline would come to him for comfort. These were not happy memories, bringing him back to another loss, and deception. Weariness settled on his bones – he wanted to sleep – to wake up and realize that everything that had happened was only a dream. A nightmare.  _ It was foolish. _

"You know... we saw him on the stairs. He really looked spooked. And not quite there, just like you are now." Rosaline was too clever to ask directly. It was a skill she had learned the hard way, dealing with a volatile father. But Tybalt was certain that whatever he would say, he would have to choose carefully.

"Is that so?" Too long – and he instantly knew he did a poor job keeping up appearances.

"Aye."

He mulled over it for a bit. Considering. Why would Mercutio seem shaken if he had been mocking him beforehand? There was no reason to act once he was out of Tybalt's sight. What if he had spoken the truth? What if– A running train would not have hit him any harder. What if he had misjudged Mercutio?  _ He would not have you. Who would?  _ He did not want to hear that. It was not true, it was not– 

"He went to the eastern garden. Maybe he's still there." Rosaline squeezed his forearm, and in this moment, it felt so encouraging that Tybalt could not stop himself. He had to do something, and not just sit back on his ass and whine. He was a goddamned Capulet and even if it'd make him want to die in the long run, if he could talk to Mercutio, he would. Even if it was easier to hate. Tybalt gave his cousin a kiss on the top of her head, as thanks, and leapt from his spot. 

He still had no clue how fast he must have run down the now empty corridors and stairs. All that he knew was that, true to form, Mercutio was in the garden. Part of him could not help but roll his eyes at the theatrics – he was sitting on a stone bench in front of several ponds. This garden was designed to look wild, when in fact everything was carefully designed. It was also one of the few places where Tybalt himself felt at peace. His steps sounded obscenely loud on the gravel, heralding his arrival – and giving Mercutio an excuse to turn around and run again. Except Tybalt did not really want Mercutio to run.

He stopped when he was standing by the bench, a few feet from the other man. The contrast between the darkness and the scarce torches sharpened his features, and for a brief instant, Tybalt was bereft of words again. There were many things he wanted to do and say, none appropriate to the circumstances. 

"And now it's the cat's turn to check on its mangled prey. Don't worry, prince. I have nothing you can take." It was a lie. Plain, white lie. Yet it made Tybalt wince.

"I don't want to take anything from you." When Mercutio turned sharply, and looked at him, it took all his willpower not to avert his eyes. The pain was still there, and his eyes were too bright. It was not a mask anymore, and Tybalt was dimly aware that he would never get another chance at explaining himself before Mercutio walked out of this place for good. Words collided in his head, and all he could say would be useless. "I wanted to apologize. I was unfair to you." The scoff it earned him was, in his mind, deserved, and so he went on: "That you, of all people, would not try to taunt me... I'm not used to this."

"I told you I was not playing. I still am not." The words were spoken softly, and maybe Mercutio was as exhausted as he was. 

"Why?" It was one word. One question. But he had to know. Even if it broke him.

"I don't know. Like I said, I don't know how to deal with you. I don't know the words. All my life had been a massive tumble across people's lives. People who never really tried to see who I was. But you did. You let me rail, and fought back with everything you've got. No one else did this."

“You have friends who fought for you.” And that was the truth. Even if they did not do it in a high profile way – Benvolio was always nearby.

“They would not fight me. You never had any qualms to fight me.”

"I don't get it. I tried to kill you!" He was confused. What was Mercutio on about?

"Once. And I led you to it." Mercutio paused, and when he spoke again, it hit Tybalt like a punch in the guts. "At the time, it seemed like a good idea. To have you kill me so that I wouldn't have to face you again, and know that you'd never want me anyway."

Wait what? It took a moment to register. Want him? That meant – "You. You were serious." And he probably sounded horrified, and he could see Mercutio fall down into himself once more. Acting on an impulse, Tybalt went to sit beside him, a hand hovering on his shoulder – not quite touching, but still there. "Why would anyone–" he swallowed, "want me?"

"Yeah, what a wonder? Tybalt, look in a mirror sometimes? And while you're at it, look at yourself, at Juliet, at the guys at school. Despite what I say most of the time, you are not so despicable." 

This was more like the Mercutio he knew. Though he was not sure what to make of it. He was relieved – relieved that someone not related to him by blood thought he mattered – and was not just a pawn. And he still reeled at the certainty that Mercutio did not really want to run from him. 

"I'm sorry. I did not think–"

"Of course you did not. Come on, I haven't been very obvious, have I?" The smile Mercutio gave him warmed him – he never thought he would ever feel that way but there was no mistaking it. Moments ago, he was wretched, disgusted with him and half-breaking down. 

"What I did... I did not mean to scare you. But I did not think words would have worked. I'm sorry too."

And Tybalt would be hard pressed to really resent Mercutio when he looked so genuinely sheepish. Hell, he did not even comment on how rare it was for Mercutio to ever apologize. Maybe, maybe they could work it out. As he was saying it, he did not expect Mercutio to beam.

When Mercutio replied, he was still smiling: "But only if you want to."

"Idiot, I would not ask if I didn't." There was something reassuring in being able to fall back on the banter, even if it did not feel the same. With the anger gone, the words lost their edge – partly, at least. Tybalt was utterly drained. It was as though he just ran a marathon. Even so, it was a very foreign feeling, and he had no idea what to do or say. Alright, he was still freaked out of his mind and now, it was all he could do not to bolt. Again. 

"Tybalt?" The uncertainty of his tone made him glance at Mercutio. 

"Yes?"

"You think too much."

He could not have helped the bitter bark of laughter that escaped him. "You, accusing me of thinking?" But Mercutio looked nearly as lost as he had felt, so he softened a bit. "It's just... Too sudden. Unexpected – give me some time..."

It must have been the wrong thing to say, considering Mercutio's closed expression. Before he could speak, Tybalt went on: "It's not a no, Mercutio."

"How do I know?"

True, Tybalt never really gave him any incentive to trust him. So he did what his words could not and, placing a hand on his neck, forced Mercutio to face him. Slowly, carefully, he leaned forward until their brows touched.

"I trust you not to mock me on this. Trust me not to play with you either."It was still strange to be so close, and yet, when Mercutio showed no sign of leaving, Tybalt's worries were soothed. Their breaths mingled, almost in sync – it was peace.

And Tybalt vowed to himself never to be a coward again – and not to listen to his uncle's nonsense.

  
  


 


End file.
